FOSTER BROTHERS - A MFM Menage Romance

by Samantha Twinn

  Foster Brothers

  A Ménage Romance

  By

  Samantha Twinn

  © 2017 Samantha Twinn

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Art – www.vivianmonirdesign.com

  DESCRIPTION

  I didn’t mean to have s*x with my foster brothers…

  Missi

  I was given my name by the seven-year-old boy who found me by a dumpster wrapped in rags.

  Hudson said that he loved me at first sight and he'd never let me go. He kept his promise for as long as he could. He and Flint were my foster brothers until circumstances forced us apart.

  My life has always been hard and trouble just won’t seem to let me go. The chatroom is where I go to find a connection, but this time I get way more than I bargained for.

  Hudson

  My heart belongs to a girl I never met.

  I’m a fantasy maker. A name in a chatroom, a finger, and a voice, and if you’re standing on the balcony at Club Forbidden, I’m going to make you come.

  Except the girl with blonde hair like a pixie doesn’t leave it at that. She kisses me and tells me she wants more. I keep getting the feeling that I know her, but I break my rule and take her back to my place anyway.

  When I find out who she is I don’t know what to do , but I need to make sure she’s safe before time runs out.

  Flint

  I’m a fighter, a brawler, an MMA champion. I take out my frustrations in the ring so I can be there for my brother. When he had to leave his NFL career behind, he gave up on everything, so finding a girl in his bed is a relief. Then I realize who she is and everything changes.

  Missi was my sister but she's all grown up now. I can't help the way she makes me feel and I'm damn well not going to feel guilty about it.

  I know there is something she’s not telling me, though, but whatever it is, I’m going to do what I do best and protect the ones I love for as long as I can.

  Foster Brothers is a 55,000-word standalone MENAGE romance novel with a happy every after.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  HUDSON

  The club is dark. I stay in the shadows, clothed in black, eyes down. I don’t order a drink. I’m not here to dance. It’s not a sex club, but that’s why I’m here. I’m a finger and a voice and if a woman is standing on the balcony in the darkest corner, I’ll make her come.

  Every Friday I travel across town for this. I don’t seek my own satisfaction, well, not until later at my own hand. I don’t know who it’ll be or what she’ll be like. Her smell, her shape and the sound she’ll make as she orgasms, are all to be discovered.

  The first time was pre-arranged. There are dark places on the internet for people like me, and the women who advertise for an anonymous sexual experience with a stranger. Her requirements were simple. She would wait on the balcony at Club Forbidden, looking at the view. The man would come up behind her, close but not touching, and say ‘every night when I go to sleep, I die’ and she would reply ‘and the next morning when I awake, I am reborn.’ The quote by Gandhi was the code to unlocking her legs. She wanted to come against the finger of a stranger and never see his face. It was that last part that made it perfect for me. My face is a problem, especially when it comes to women. Let’s just say I’m well known in some circles and that can lead to certain assumptions.

  The first woman had hair the color of melted chocolate and legs like an athlete. My heart pounded as I approached, but she’d been still as the night. My voice sounded unusually low as I said the words. When she replied, she spread her legs wider and I slipped up behind her, hand gripping her hip at first, breathing in the floral smell of her shampoo, hesitating. Her hips wiggled, an invitation, and I slipped my hand ever so slowly down the front of her pants, feeling the soft skin of her stomach and the bareness of her pussy until my finger hit the slick, pulsing heat of her clit. God, she’d sighed as I circled it, rubbing slowly, slowly, as she remained totally still. The silence between us was cavernous but somehow it just made everything more intense. Her body went as tight as a bow as I circled and circled, tapping lightly then harder until she was shuddering. When I could feel she was close I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger and that was what drove her over the edge. As she came, I pushed two fingers up inside her cunt to feel her muscles rippling, and the hook of my fingers was the only thing that stopped her from falling. When she finished I pulled my hand from her panties and left the club, driving home before I slipped the hand that smelled of her pussy into my own pants. I came so hard, kneeling on the cold, tiled floor, that it had been an awakening of sorts.

  For most people, finger fucking a stranger would be considered remote, but for me it was a level of intimacy that I hadn’t achieved in a while. Sex had always been a function of life, like eating and drinking. Then things changed so much, and I didn’t know how to let go with someone like that anymore. This way I didn’t have to connect.

  All I had to do was make someone’s fantasy come true. I did it once and after that, I wanted to do it again.

  Every week I return, but it’s always a different woman. I make their fantasy come true in the hope that some of their satisfaction will somehow find its way back to me. I see contentment in others that I can’t find for myself. It’s too late for me. Too risky.

  Happiness is something intangible.

  For now, I’m a fantasy maker.

  2

  RIVER HAS ENTERED THE CHATROOM

  Raven: River, where’ve you been? I’ve missed you.

  River: I had some things to deal with, baby. But I’m here now. What do you need?

  Raven: Just this. Just to connect. To know you’re there.

  River: I can be here…for tonight.

  Raven: Why just tonight?

  River: Things are going to change, little bird.

&n
bsp; Raven: They don’t have to, do they? Say they don’t.

  River: Sometimes we have no control, no matter how much we wish we did.

  Raven: I missed you.

  River: I missed you too. But I can’t be around anymore.

  Raven: Did I say something wrong?

  River: No, baby. It isn’t anything to do with us. Something in my real life.

  Raven: You feel real to me, River. All these months we’ve been messaging like this. Did you ever wonder what it would be like if we met in person?

  River: All the time. Sometimes I think that I’ve seen you in the street, and I want to call out and ask if it’s you, but then I think I must be crazy.

  Raven: Not crazy. You know so much about me, but if feels like nothing at all when I’ve never seen your face.

  River: When I close my eyes, I see you. Just the imaginary you, but she feels so real to me.

  Raven: It’s not enough.

  River: It has to be.

  Raven: No, it doesn’t.

  River: What are you saying, baby?

  Raven: I don’t know. It’s just…I wouldn’t know what to say to you if this was our last ever conversation.

  River: How about, have a nice life?

  Raven: Fuck you.

  River: I’ve thought about that too.

  Raven: I want to meet. To say goodbye. Will you meet me, tonight?

  River: That’s crazy, little bird. Signing off from here will be hard enough. Saying goodbye to you when we’ve just met IRL…

  Raven: We may not always have control, but we can decide this, River. We can decide how we say goodbye.

  River: No goodbyes, baby.

  Raven: Just hellos.

  River: Are you sure?

  Raven: More than anything.

  River: Club Forbidden. Two hours. Wear black and sit at the bar. I’ll find you.

  RIVER HAS LEFT THE CHATROOM.

  3

  HUDSON

  I’m outside Club Forbidden. Tonight is different, though. Tonight is gonna hurt and I promised that I wouldn’t let anything make me feel this way again. But I can’t help myself.

  Raven is fragile, but in some ways stronger than I’ll ever be. She’s blue, but still holds so much hope in her heart. She’s shy and cautious, but somehow confident enough to ask to meet me in person. We are strangers, but in some ways we are already closer than lovers.

  As I walk into the club my heart is beating way too fast. My head pounds with my pulse, just above my left eye. I rub the spot and curse the nervousness I’m feeling. I’m Hudson Caine. I’m a bull not a mouse, but when you’ve opened some of your soul to someone, it makes you weak, and I don’t like feeling this way.

  I make my way to the side of the club where I’ll have a good view of the dance floor and the bar. I need time. Just a little bit of time. I need my head to stop pounding enough for me to enjoy this next couple of hours. It’s all we’re gonna get.

  I think about the image I have of Raven in my head. We never really talked about what we look like in real life, but I think I’ll know her. I imagine her as having short black hair in a bob style, petite with slender arms and legs. I have a face in my mind; dark eyes framed with kohl. Maybe it’s the online name she gave herself that’s driven this mental image.

  I stand with my back to the wall and wait for the girl dressed head-to-toe in black to appear. The music is pounding and trance-like — the kind of beat you can lose yourself in — but it only makes the pounding in my head worse. The crowd moves like one seething mass, swelling and falling under the colored flashing lights. It’s hot. Hot enough to make me sweat.

  At least twenty minutes pass, but she hasn’t appeared. I get a sinking feeling inside. One so terrible it takes me by surprise. I’ve tried to tell myself that Raven has been a way for me to pass the time, but I’ve been lying. I tried to tell her this was a bad idea because it is, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I need to see her, even if it’s just this once. I want to take her hand in mine and press it against my cheek. I want to touch her lips with my thumb and smell her hair. I shake my head at my own thoughts, not really understanding why these strange tender images have taken root in my head, especially about someone I’ve never even met.

  Someone, it seems, who might not even turn up.

  Maybe she’s frightened. I can forgive that. If she’s feeling as nervous as I am, then it’s easy for me to understand why someone who’s been through so much might not want to face the person they’ve shared it all with.

  If she knew what I’d been keeping from her, she’d definitely stay away.

  I make my way to the bar, desperate for a drink; something to take the edge off my nerves. I take a seat on a stool and flag down the barman, ordering a neat whiskey. I want to feel the burn. Someone takes a seat next to me and I turn to find a girl in a pink dress, with the palest blonde hair cut short and choppy. She turns to me, the clear blueness of her eyes taking me by surprise. Maybe it’s the way she’s framed them with smoky brown that makes them look so ethereal. She doesn’t smile, just looks at me like she wants to say something.

  She’s beautiful, but all I can think is ‘she’s not Raven.’

  I down my drink and look towards the entrance. Maybe my little bird is running late? There could be some traffic, I guess. Or maybe she’s coming by some other means. A group of men make their way through the door. No dark-haired girl dressed in black. No girl dressed in black at all.

  How long will I wait for her? Maybe another half hour.

  “You look like you’re expecting someone,” the girl next to me says. She has a nice voice. Soft and light.

  “I thought I was. But I don’t think she’s going to show.”

  She sips the drink the barman just brought her. It looks like lemonade but I bet it has some spirit in it. People don’t come to Club Forbidden to drink soft.

  “Why’d you think that?”

  I shrug my shoulders. It would take all night for me to explain the complexities of River and Raven and even if I had time, I wouldn’t want to. Some things are private.

  “I know you,” she says, cocking her head to one side and studying me intently.

  “I don’t think so.” I hope she doesn’t work it out. I really don’t need a conversation about the ins and outs of my career right now.

  “Maybe you look like someone?”

  “Maybe.” I nod but I don’t smile. It takes a lot to make me do that these days.

  “Man of few words, huh?” I snort out a huffing sound because that’s the last thing I’ve ever been accused of. Words get harder to come by when you’re under pressure. I feel like I use up so many of them thinking, that I can’t seem to get them to come out of my mouth anymore.

  “That’s okay.” She gulps the drink down to the bottom of the glass and places it back on the bar with purpose. I think she must be pissed at me and is getting up to find someone with better conversational skills, but then she turns on her stool and just stares at me. “When I was a teenager, I had this teacher. Everyone else was fed up with my shit; the bad attitude, the late homework, the unexplained absences. But she had something about her that made me feel calm. You remind me of her.”

  “Great. I remind you of some hippy teacher.”

  “I never said she was a hippy.”

  “I guess you didn’t.” I sip my whiskey and look across at her. Her hair is like a golden halo around her face. She looks a little like a darker version of Tinker Belle, with her striking make-up and the crazy black boots I’ve noticed she’s wearing. The heels are about four inches and the leather comes up over her knees.

  “She didn’t say much. Weird for a teacher, I guess. In her lessons, she’d tell us what she needed to, then she’d set us off on our work and walk around the room quietly observing. I liked it when she’d come and sit next to me and watch what I was doing. She never pointed out what I was doing wrong or what I could do better. It’s like, just by having her there, I became a better student. Like
I was capable of more.”

  “And I remind you of her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what is sitting next to me gonna make you more capable of?”

  She studies me carefully, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress where it rests against her thighs. I can feel her hesitation and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise in anticipation.

  “Every night when I go to sleep, I die.”

  Those words seem to slice my heart. That’s my line. No one I’ve ever said it to has seen my face. How the fuck does this girl know about that phrase? How the fuck does she know who I am? I look her dead in the eye, trying to figure this out. Have I done her before? Could she have caught enough of a glimpse of me to recognize me again? I don’t think I have, but she could have changed her hair.

  She gazes back with a blank expression, waiting. Waiting for the words that will tell her this is on. For a moment I imagine sliding my fingers up the soft inside of her thigh and finding the hot, wet center of her. I imagine pressing my face into her short golden hair and inhaling her scent. I imagine the sound she’ll make when she comes and my cock comes to life between my legs. She blinks slowly, as though my silence is rejection.

  The truth is, I don’t know what the fuck to do. This isn’t how it works. I don’t swap childhood stories with the women from the chatroom. I certainly don’t let them know what I look like. It’s anonymous for a reason; a kink for the women, and purely practical for me. I can hear Flint’s voice in my head telling me that I need to get a grip. That I don’t have to live my life the way I’m choosing to. But it doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels like the only way.

  “How do you know about that?” I need to know for sure so I can figure out what the hell I’m gonna do.

  She blinks but doesn’t answer.

  “Do you know what you're asking for?”

  She nods once and I catch the way she presses her legs together at the thought. Fuck. I’m only human, but I feel like a traitor for getting turned on by this stranger when I’m waiting for Raven.